Chapter 4

Violet

For a long time after Gary’s call, I sat on the edge of the dorm bed and stared at the phone in my hand, trembling. No, Gary couldn’t know where I was, right? Still, every sound in the hall outside made my stomach knot.

For ten days, I was always looking over my shoulder. I went to classes with my hood pulled low over my hair and kept my phone switched off most of the time.

My roommate, Lena, noticed. Though she didn’t talk to me much, one day she asked, “What’s wrong with you girl?” Her eyes moved to my scar on my forehead. “You look like a frightened rabbit.”

“Nothing…”

“Hey, you can tell me everything, okay?”

I looked at her and almost smiled. “Yeah…” But I didn’t tell her anything. I don’t want her to look at me as if I’m the modern-day Oliver Twist. I don’t want to be a victim. I want to be a college student, just like any one of them, with a goofy smile on my face, and pretend the worst thing my parents ever did was deny me to go to a summer camp.

My ribs still hurt when I breathed too deeply, but at least my cast was out, and the bruises had faded enough to hide under clothes. The campus clinic had cleared me for light movement. That was all I needed to hear.

But Coach Reynolds did not agree. She stood near the rink with her arms crossed, watching me closely. “You are not here to prove anything today,” she said softly. “You are here to see where your body is.”

Why were these people so good to me? I tightened my grip on the borrowed skates in my hand. They were not mine. They felt wrong before I even put them on, but I had no choice. My old skates were still at Gary’s house, probably thrown into the trash by now.

“I need this scholarship,” I said in a low voice.

Coach Reynolds’s face softened. “Then don’t ruin your chance by being reckless.”

I nodded, even though all I could think was that if I lost this scholarship, I had nowhere to go.

The moment I stepped onto the ice, I settled. For the first time in days, the fear became quieter. The rink was cold and clean, and the sound of my blades moving over the ice felt good, relaxing. I started slowly, holding my bad arm close to my body while I moved in careful circles.

Still, every movement pulled at some injury. My ribs complained. The skates rubbed against my ankles. Despite that I pushed myself.

“Violet,” Coach warned. “Stop rushing!”

A door slammed somewhere behind the stands, and the sound shot through me. I was back in the kitchen with Gary standing over me and the whiskey bottle raised in his hand.

My foot slipped. I tried to catch myself, but I stumbled. My ankle twisted beneath me, and pain snapped up my leg. I fell hard on my side and gasped as the impact hit my ribs.

Coach Reynolds reached me quickly. “Shit! Bennet! Don’t move!”

Tears burned my eyes, but they were more from anger than pain. “It’s just my ankle.”

“You are out of this rink until I ask you to come back!” She hissed as she helped me off the ice. I hated needing her arm. How could I be so reckless?

The clinic said it was a mild sprain. All I had to do was rest and keep an ice wrap, but no skating until I healed.

That evening, I sat on my dorm bed with my ankle wrapped in an ice pack, and my laptop open to the scholarship page. I read the same paragraph again and again. Athletic awards were dependent on active participation, training progress, and competition eligibility.

If I could not train, I could lose it.

If I lost it, I could lose the dorm.

Calm down calm town, I kept telling myself, it’s gonna be alright, I always found a way out. But the anxiety was so overwhelming I felt like being swallowed and chewed to pieces.

Lena came in carrying two paper cups of coffee and gave one to me.

“Okay,” she said carefully. “You’re doing the haunted Victorian orphan stare again. You’ve just hurt your ankle, okay?”

My lips trembled. “I might lose my scholarship.”

Her expression changed. “That fast?”

I nodded, my throat choking up.

She sat on her bed across from me. “Then we need to get you out of this room before you start thinking yourself into a grave.”

I chuckled nervously, shaking my head.

“There’s a hockey game tonight,” she said. “North Valley against Redwood. It’ll be loud, violent, and full of people making bad decisions. Perfect distraction.”

“I know nothing about hockey,” I said, sipping coffee, debating inside if I should go to a hockey game that does nothing to my currently dangerous scholarship.

“Neither do half the girls there. They go for Axel Hale.”

I frowned. “Who?”

Lena stared at me like I had admitted I did not know what the moon was. “Hockey captain. Richer than Midas. Gorgeous. Completely unhinged on the ice. Women love him. Men want to be him. His smug face is on North Valley’s website to attract new students for real . Rawr!”

I rolled my eyes. “ Bad boy of the college isn’t he? Sounds awful.”

“Now you’re talking!! ” she lowered her voice. “I’ve heard he’s into girls, orgies. Like one-night stands. Girl, he is dark as hell. Too dangerous, and too violent! Let’s go to the game, what do you say？ Babe you really need to loosen up a bit. We are officially college students. Think how much fun we’d have!”

I inhaled roughly. I needed a distraction, not because I wanted to see Hale. So I pulled on my coat, hid my hair beneath my hood, and followed her to the arena.

The place was packed with students shouting, music blasting, the crowd stomping hard enough to shake the seats. I gripped the railing as Lena helped me up the steps. We found seats near the middle.

When the players rushed out, Axel Hale was impossible to miss. He was taller than most of the other players, broad-shouldered and fast. His golden hair fell in soft waves around his neck, and his hazel eyes were like a warm pool of honey. Despite that, he looked dangerous, violent and breathtakingly handsome. No wonder girls were mad about him.

When he slammed a Redwood player into the glass, the entire arena erupted.

“Hale! Hale! Hale!”

I stared at him despite myself. He did not move like the others. There was anger in him, but it seemed like he was controlling it.

Suddenly, Axel looked toward the stands. Because of that one mistake, the Redwoods scored. The crowd groaned, and his teammates shouted at him. He looked furious, but not embarrassed. His eyes moved over the bleachers like he was searching for someone.

“Why is he looking this way?” Lena asked.

“I don’t know.”

He did it again later. One second, he was about to shoot. The next, his head turned sharply toward us. He missed, then slammed into a Redwood player so hard the referee blew the whistle.

“He’s insane,” I muttered.

Lena said, “Tonight he’s just… weird.”

The game became chaos after that. Axel kept hitting too hard, earning penalties, arguing with the referee, and searching the stands between plays. Still, North Valley won by one goal in the final minute. The arena exploded with cheers, but Axel did not look happy.

As he left the ice, he looked back one last time. Even from a distance, I felt as if his gaze passed near me. Lena and I just got up and walked back to the dorm, discussing about the game.

Two days later, Coach Reynolds called me into Athletic Director Grant’s office. Panic seized my heart. Were they going to withdraw my scholarship? By the time I was there, I was shaking with anxiety.

Grant was a serious man with gray hair. Coach Reynolds stood by the window, arms crossed.

“How is the ankle?” Grant asked.

I swallowed. “Still sore,” I murmured, looking at him without blinking.

Grant opened a file on his desk. “Your scholarship remains active, but we need to be honest. You are behind. Your injuries have affected your balance, confidence, and training schedule.”

“Please…” I said earnestly. “I can catch up, Sir.”

“Not alone,” Coach Reynolds said.

God no. “Are you removing me from the program?”

“No,” Grant said. “But if you cannot show progress soon, the committee will review your athletic award.”

I couldn’t breathe. “I have nowhere else to go,” I said before I could stop myself.

Coach Reynolds’s expression softened, but Grant only leaned back in his chair. He intertwined his fingers and said, “You need help. You need someone who understands pressure on the ice,” he said. “Someone who can work with you outside regular sessions.”

I looked between them. “Who will be that patient? Is there someone who can spare time for me?”

Coach Reynolds and Grant exchanged a glance. Then Grant nodded. “Yes, Axel Hale,” he said. “The hockey captain.”